


The Starship Arkenstone

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Series: Prompts and AUs [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo/Bofur implied, Crossover, Gen, Gimli/Legolas Implied, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fic, Star Trek Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starship Arkenstone: the first dwarf-built ship to serve as the flagship of the Federation.</p><p>This began as a one-shot prompt response and is now a 13 Days for 13 Dwarves project.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Aboard

**Author's Note:**

> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)

Nori strolled into the hydroponics bay with a sweet black coffee in one hand and milky tea in the other, his regulation PADD tucked into a personalized holster at his hip. He lifted both cups over his head and out of harm’s way as he made his way through the maze of plants and experiments with the ease of long practice. So adept was he at navigating Bilbo Baggins' domain that he did not get so much as a nip to a braid tip from Bilbo's evil dwarf-biting plant Smaug (Bilbo assured Nori Smaug was "only teasing," but Nori wasn't buying it). "Bilbo!"

"In my office!"

Nori poked his head around the door, looking as pleased as he ever did (it was a special, sarcastic brand of pleased). Bilbo grinned back. "I wasn't sure you'd make it," he said. "I figured the captain would have you running all over the place on last minute errands."

Nori snorted. "There are no last minute errands anymore because I do it right the first time."

Bilbo chuckled. There were some on board who wondered how Nori - older, sarcastic, and more experienced than the Fleet's youngest captain - managed the job of captain's yeoman. Bilbo was one of the handful of people who knew that the first thing Nori said when he was introduced to Captain Fili was, "I'm good at my job. I'll keep you organized, you’ll never have to tell me anything twice, and I have an ear to the whole ship. But I don't brew coffee and I don't make lube runs." 

The captain laughed and they shook hands. That had pretty much set the very successful working relationship in stone.

(Bilbo, who got on very well with the alpha shift helmsman -who also happened to be the captain's brother and not-in-the-least-successfully-secret lover - had not approved of the second half of that statement, but the captain had told him to deal with it. He was thankfully as immune to the helmsman’s epic pout as the poor, put-upon navigator and third in command, Lt. Commander Balin.)

"I made popcorn." Bilbo held up a bucket that smelled like heaven. There weren't many Hobbits aboard the _Arkenstone_ , and dwarves had a sad and limited knowledge of how to take basic popcorn and make it something fantastic. Nori’s discovery of Bilbo’s talent in this area had been shortly followed by Bilbo’s discovery that Nori could merrily hack any security camera on board ship. As a result of these unusual talents, an epic, if unlikely, friendship was born. "So it looks like we're ready for the show."

Nori made himself at home, kicked his feet up, and pulled out his PADD. His hacking program was always up and ready to go, so he tied in to Bilbo's monitor (as head of hydroponics, science lieutenant Bilbo Baggins had a tiny office, but very good equipment; certainly better than the ancient system in Nori's closet of an office) and asked, "Transporter room?"

Bilbo checked the time, "Probably too late to check in on Kili calming the captain down," he said, with a hint of a sparkle in his eye that the rest of the crew would never suspect of him, sweet Hobbit face that he had.

Nori made a sort of disgusted noise. "No, thank you. Walked in on that enough times in the Ready Room." Bilbo's eyebrows and twitching nose asked for details, but Nori decided to maintain a discrete silence. He was a professional, after all. In his way.

Nori keyed in the transporter room. 

Captain Fili, the youngest captain in Fleet history, stood in his usual relaxed sort of swagger, hair pulled back. He'd opted for the standard gold dress uniform shirt (“Thank goodness,” Nori snorted, since Kili had discovered on the first day that one little tug at the insignia on the waist of the wraparound green shirt the captain preferred made the whole thing slide open, “I’ve seen enough of the captain’s abs this week.” Bilbo made a sort-of-disagreeing noise that successfully indicated how much he wouldn’t mind a few minutes of Bridge time if those were the sort of antics that occurred up there), and he looked appropriately Young and Handsome. "No one should look that much like his publicity photos," Nori muttered, and Bilbo had to agree.

He'd pulled along Dr. Oin, Lt. Ori from Communications – who also happened to be the younger brother of both Nori and Dr. Dori from counseling - ("Good call," Bilbo said, "people have trouble screaming in front of Ori." "Doubt that works on admirals," Nori responded, "especially this one." “He’s back in the skirted uniform again I see.” “Ori goes with his mood.” “He’s been favoring that one this month. Looks good.” “That’s what I told him.”), and the ship's first officer, Legolas Greenleaf, who looked entirely too large for the transporter room. The ceilings were tall enough for their special exchange officer, but all the equipment came to his thighs. (“Looking ridiculous as always,” Nori muttered. “Don’t let Ensign Gimli hear you say that.” “Ensign…who?” “Gimli. From engineering.” “I have no idea who that is.” Bilbo grinned, “The first officer does,” he said, and they missed ten minutes of boring transporter room action while Bilbo filled Nori in on a hidden love affair he was terribly ashamed to have known nothing about. Being friendly gained Bilbo so much knowledge. Nori could try it, or he could just feed Bilbo’s tea addiction and work all the gossip out of him over flavored popcorn).

The doors swished open and Lt. Bofur hurried in, looking harried as usual. He was the assistant chief engineer under Lt. Commander Bombur, but he did most of the "mad running around the ship" work. He nodded to Chief Gloin and slid behind the transporter controls himself. 

("Fancy," Nori said, "bringing in the big wigs to manage the controls that are actually Gloin's speciality, meaning he knows more about it than they do." "He doesn't look terribly pleased," Bilbo agreed sympathetically, "but I guess it looks better. Should be Bombur, though." “He’s off duty until his wife calls about this latest baby she should be popping out today.” “If we don’t stop having shore leaves on Earth, he’ll never stop having children.” “I think that’s the plan.”)

The captain looked down the line, and then nodded to Bofur. "Ready Lieutenant?”

Bofur flashed a grin. “Aye aye, Captain!” he said, and threw in a ridiculous little salute for bonus.

(“At least you can drool over Bofur, since I’m the only one here to see it,” Nori smirked, and earned a puff of popcorn to the eyeball for his cheek. No respect for the uniform, none at all. “As the captain’s yeoman, I’m senior staff, you know. That’s insubordination,” he said, and Bilbo snorted indelicately back at him.)

Bilbo leaned forward a bit as Nori expertly tossed and caught some popcorn (the paprika was a very nice touch) on his tongue. The enitre ship had been in a tizzy for weeks because of the upcoming inspection by Admiral Thorin Oakenshield, known for being a difficult dwarf to impress. "I'm still betting," Nori said between tosses, "that he's going to be more of a hardass than usual because of Durin."

“He’s supposed to be fair,” Bilbo said. “So I’m sure he’ll see that Fíli’s doing a great job, and didn’t just get the position because Oakenshield’s his uncle.”

On the screen, their captain straightened his shoulders and ordered, “Energize.”

Nori patted Bilbo’s cheek with buttery fingers. “My sweet, innocent angel. You know nothing of the world of tight-assed paper-pusherss who haven’t been in a proper ship for years.” Bilbo shoved his hand off with an impressively Hobbity eye-roll.

The swirl of gold solidified into the tall, dark form of Admiral Thorin Oakenshield, former captain of the legendary starship _Erebor_ , along with a huge hulking dwarf in security red that stretched tight across the muscles of his arms and shoulders. 

“Admiral Thorin,” the captain greeted them, stepping forward for a formal bow. “Captain Fíli of the _Arkenstone_ , at your service.” Then he straightened and tossed a smirk at the giant. “And Commander Dwalin.” 

Dwalin grunted a greeting and ran suspicious eyes over the gathered officers. His gaze stopped, just briefly (in no way inappropriate or rude, only . . . of interest), on Ori’s very visible and attractively knobbly knees.

Behind Captain Fili, the communications officer squeaked.

Nori’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

And Bilbo said, “Well, this could be very interesting indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In case you were wondering, no of course I couldn’t do this without way more headcanon than necessary so:_  
>  Captain Fili  
> First Officer Legolas (an intercultural exchange with the Elves)  
> Helmsman Lt. Kili  
> Long-suffering Navigator Lt. Comm. Balin (he works all shift with Kili, poor bb)  
> Dr. Oin  
> Chief of Security Lt. Bifur  
> Chief Engineer Lt. Comm. Bombur  
> Lt. Bofur, Engineering  
> Chief Gloin, Transporter Room  
> Lt. Nori, Captain’s Yeoman  
> Lt. Ori, Communications  
> Dr. Dori, ship’s counselor (There weren’t any in TOS but the idea amuses me beyond belief, so I’m going with it)  
> Ens. Gimli, random engineering peon  
> Lt. Bilbo Baggins, botany
> 
> Admiral Thorin Oakenshield and  
> Commander Dwalin, security


	2. Lieutenant Kili, Helmsman, USS Arkenstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an event on tumblr called 13 Days for 13 Dwarves, where we are celebrating each of our beloved dwarves on different days. I decided to celebrate with 13 vignettes in the _Arkenstone_ universe, one for each character!
> 
> The order is set by the 13 Dwarves organizers, so vignettes won't be linear.
> 
> First up: Kili!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Fili/Kili in this one!

Lt. Kíli Disarson, the best helmsman aboard the _Arkenstone,_ no contest, just look at his scores, thank you, was perfectly aware that his secret relationship with the ship’s captain was no secret at all.

And he was fine with that.

More than fine.

In fact, he was so okay with it that, three months into their five year mission, Kíli laid a plan to make sure that the captain’s yeoman found out about their love affair. Nori was the nosiest person on the board, and incapable of keeping a secret unless expressly told to do so (at which point he became The Tomb, and couldn’t be budged), and Kíli wanted it out:

Fíli Durinson, dashing captain of the _Arkenstone_ , darling of Starfleet’s recruiting program, youngest dwarf ever to command his own starship, was _not available._

There were several good reasons for his determination.

For example, there was the article back on Arda that identified Fíli as the Federation’s most eligible bachelor, complete with delicious photo spread.

There was the fact that Fíli was the shining star of Starfleet’s recruiting division, and looked as great on his posters as he did in person, which was pretty damn great.

There was the fact that he knew of six ensigns and two lieutenants who had copies of the aforementioned article and recruiting posters hanging in their lockers, and suspected quite a few more.

There was that _admiral_ who had made eyes at Fíli over the dinner table the night before the _Arkenstone_ set out on her maiden voyage.

There was Lt. Commander Reela, from the sociology division, whose job it was to outfit landing parties with clothing that allowed them to blend in as well as possible with the locals, and the fact that she and her measuring tape had more access to Fíli’s groin than _Kíli_ did because of Fíli’s insistence on discretion.

There were his very cold toes, which were not fond of sleeping alone after a half a decade of having warm shins to torture with them.

And finally, there was the fact that on _three_ separate missions in their first two months in space, Fíli had nearly been married off to two alien princesses and one alien prince-of-indeterminate-gender (and Starfleet had not been opposed to the second princess, pointing out it would “certainly seal an alliance that could provide the Federation with dilithium for generations” and “accommodations could be made for a civilian aboard the ship”).

Kíli had never considered himself a particularly possessive or jealous dwarf, but. Well. 

That just _would not do._

He knew, of course, that there were already those who said that because of a few snafus in his career (if someone had _briefed_ him on the fact that Andorian ponies could camouflage themselves with all the skills of the skittish octopus, he would have put bells on them and _not_ misplaced them, and he’d charmed the Andorians later when he gallantly saved said ponies from a cooperative crew of Trolls and Orions, who were notorious for their gifts at space piracy), his position on the _Arkenstone_ was the result of nepotism, brought on by his brother being a captain, his mother and uncle admirals, and his father the best cook Starfleet Command had ever hired. He realized it would only get worse if it came out that he was also Captain Fíli’s _lover._

But then, he had his simulation and competition scores.

And they were _excellent._ So excellent they were deserving of multiple mentions.

…..Also, after six months hopping here and there, and their final inspection with Admiral Thorin Oak-up-my-buttshield (a nickname of Kíli-origins that had been all the rage in his Academy days), they would be heading straight into deep space.

At which point no one would get to have an opinion.

For all of these logical and well-considered reasons, Kíli hatched a brilliant yet simple plan to out his relationship to the crew:

1\. Order lunch for the captain  
2\. Tell the mess to send it up with the captain’s yeoman (Nori would make faces and look put-upon, but he’d do it)  
3\. Visit the captain’s ready room  
4\. Set the door to open automatically when it sensed Nori (yes, he was a dwarf of multiple skills; also, he’d asked Bofur down in engineering for a quick lesson)  
5\. Entice the captain to make out  
6\. Keep making out until Nori enters

It all went swimmingly, though Nori did take longer than planned, as he had decided if he was going to pick up food for a lazy captain, he’d also order something for himself. But that just meant that Kíli was forced to spend more time with his hands under Fíli’s shirt, licking at Fíli’s mouth and tugging at those lovely braids with his teeth while occasionally sliding a thigh between his captain’s leg and rubbing in an extremely suggestive way, and those were hardships he could live with.

Nori didn’t look the least bit surprised, of course.

He stopped in the doorway with the tray and heaved a huge sigh indeed.

“Excuse me.”

Fíli about jumped out of his skin and half out of his shirt, which was the new wraparound green one that showed a hint of chest hair and, Kíli discovered when he didn’t let go fast enough, which popped quite easily open at the waist-insignia. “Nori!” Fíli yelped in a way that was not at all as suave as his many recruiting posters.

Kíli grinned to himself.

“You ordered dinner?” Nori asked dryly. 

“No I didn’t.”

There was a beat.

Then, slowly, they both looked at Kíli.

Kíli attempted to look as innocent as dwarfily possible. In his mind’s eye he imagined their baby cousin Gimli (now an ensign in engineering) at the height of his cuteness, before he’d turned into a heartthrob and a pain in the ass. It might have worked, because instead of giving him one of his speeches on “acting like a proper officer, Kíli,” Fíli just shook his head and looked back at his yeoman. “I’m sorry about the mix-up,” he said sincerely, because Nori was the best yeoman in the Fleet, and you just didn’t let someone like that get annoyed at you.

Nori’s eyes flickered down, lighting fast, over the strip of golden furred belly that had been revealed during Kíli’s inadvertent disrobing of their captain, and then popped straight back up to Fíli’s face. 

(It was, Kíli agreed, a very nice view.)

His smile would have looked excellent on a fox.

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I’ll just set it down and be on my way.”

“Thank you,” Fíli said, and maybe he sounded a little relieved. “Listen, Nori, about-”

“I’m sure Nori has work to do! And so do I!” Kíli practically chirped, if someone with a low voice can chirp. He reached out and pressed the emblem back into place on Fíli’s shirt before pushing off from the desk he’d been so nicely pinned against, pressing a kiss to Fíli’s annoyed lips, and bounding for the doorway. 

“Kíli-”

Kíli blew a kiss He couldn’t let Fíli get in words like discreet or secret or best for Kíli’s career (as if Kíli cared about being captain of some ship Fíli wasn’t on, and making major decisions all the time instead of personally, with his own hands, flying a giant spaceship), or Nori would listen to them. “I’ll see you for supper!” he crowed, and tugged Nori into the hallway.

Nori’s eyebrows, always impressive, rose at least an inch over his face. “I can keep this quiet,” he said, “but you need to be more discreet.” 

Kíli beamed at him. “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t…bother?”

“It’s fine. Obviously, you are a dwarf of judgment and discernment. No need to make any sort of order about keeping your mouth shut.”

Nori crossed his arms. He looked at the door – the one that had opened without his hitting the electronic bell – then back at Kíli.

Kíli attempted to wink at him.

Kíli was not good at winking, but he knew full well that people found his lack of ability in this area charming. 

“Right then,” Nori said, “no orders to keep quiet.”

“None at all.”

“And the captain knows about this lack of orders?”

Kíli’s eyes widened. “He didn’t say anything, did he? I mean, no orders were issued.”

Nori considered this. “No, no he didn’t.”

“Well then. Fíli-ah, the captain – isn’t the sort of person to be quiet when he has something to say.” Kíli took Nori’s arm and nudged him down the hallway, just in case the door behind them opened. “So, no worries. You just go have lunch...I see you’ve a tray there, are you going to eat with Bilbo again?”

“I was planning on it.”

“Excellent!” Kíli patted his shoulder at the end of the hall, grinning as the turbolift doors open. “Have a great time, and say hi for me!”

Nori’s expression was both suspicious and amused as the lift doors slid shut between them.

Kíli grinned, waited for the next Lift, and directed it to the Bridge, all while humming cheerfully to himself.

There were those who said Kíli was onboard the _Arkenstone_ only because of his many family ties to the Fleet. These people he shut up with his flight scores, which anyone could see were excellent (they’d be the best in the Fleet if it wasn’t for an elf named Tauriel aboard the _Mirkwood,_ which whom he shared a friendly rivalry via comm messages and intranet simulations). 

What most people didn’t know was that he was a master strategist as well.

Yes.

“Well done, Kíli,” he told himself, and stepped through the lift doors and onto the bridge of the Fleet’s flagship.


	3. Dr. Oin, Chief Medical Officer, USS Arkenstone

Dr/Lt. Commander Oin was aboard the _Arkenstone_ because he, unlike some of the less open minded of his colleagues, was willing to work for a “snot-nosed brat young enough to be your son, Oin, what are you thinking?”

He was thinking plenty, thank you. He liked a bit of adventure, and a captain who let him be as grumpy as he pleased, and a challenge to his copious skills. So, yes. When the newly-christened Captain Fíli called Oin and requested that he abandon his post at Starfleet Academy wiping the arses of 60-year-old cadets and saving student engineers from their own idiocy, Oin accepted. 

It would be good to be in space again.

Oin was an oddity in the Fleet, a dwarf who combined the latest innovations with traditional herbal medicines passed down through generations of his family. He’d spent the early years of his career as the assistant on one of the first deep-space vessels, the _Iron Ram_ , where he’d become chief medical officer at the age of 90 after an unfortunate venting failure killed off his predecessor. He was cantankerous and caring and competent, and not at all intimidated or insulted by working for a lad of 85. 

He also looked quite dashing in medical blue, if he did say so himself.

There were downsides, of course, to serving aboard a ship with such a young crew. He felt ancient most of the time, and he was, indeed, the oldest dwarf aboard, having a few months on their navigator and third-in-command, Balin. Occasionally the engineers got over-excited about things and blew things up, and his captain insisted on leading landing parties and taking half the senior crew with him, including Oin, and then on having adventures instead of going on nice, boring geology surveys and the like. But, really, that was also a plus, because it was never boring aboard the _Arkenstone_ as a result.

Most disturbing – and amusing – was his position as the ship’s expert on the physical realities of sex. Dwarves were not, as a rule, a highly-sexed race, but being in deep space did tend to throw people together and form the sorts of strong emotional attachments that woke up dwarves’ rather latent sex drives. Indeed, the percentage of relationships formed in space was slightly above the planetside average, and that included the production of children. Unfortunately, of course, children weren’t allowed aboard-ship, so the families would usually transfer to Arda or one of the Federation’s outposts. 

Oin’s position at this time was to serve as a wise ear and to provide any necessary materials to the happy couple. This was routine, of course, but it still gave him a perspective of the crew that no one else aboard had (no one else because Oin was appropriately discrete, and never shared his insider’s knowledge, no matter how much he wanted to, and sometimes, oh, he _wanted_ to, especially when his own nephew came to him, cheeks and ears as bright red as his hair, and muttered something about _elves_ and _lubricant_ and just-it had been awkward for everyone, and then the elf had come in as well and it started all over again, and Oin couldn’t tell a _living soul about it_ ). 

Oin had never had children, but being the chief medical officer of this crew gave him a sort of crankily paternal glow from time to time.

Oin welcomed each day in the mess, where he met his brother Gloin, transporter chief, and sister-in-law Frey, geology. His family, like so many from Erebor, had roots in the space program going back to the first rockets sent up from the base of the Lonely Mountain under General Thror’s leadership. His parents had been engineers and their elder sister was first officer aboard the Mithril, the Fleet’s premiere engineering ship. Oin, as a doctor, was odd dwarf out, but still dedicated to the idea of space exploration.

Erebor was the backbone of the Fleet, with the great shipyard at her base, and the brilliant designers within her stone.

“Brother,” Gloin said as Oin took his seat. Frey just grunted – she was not one for mornings. Occasionally they were joined by their son and Oin’s nephew Gimli, but more often than not he worked beta instead of alpha shift like his uncle and parents.

Oin ran a critical eye over his brother’s breakfast as he sat down. Gloin couldn’t always be trusted to stick to the diet Oin prescribed for him – Oin deeply suspected Gimli in aiding and abetting Gloin in fooling the computer into giving Gloin things like cinnamon rolls for breakfast. This morning passed inspection though: almost all protein, with some roasted tomatoes for color and vitamins. “Brother,” Oin returned, “Sister.” 

Feya grunted again and stared morosely into her morning coffee as if it held the secrets to the very universe in its depths. 

Oin stabbed a sausage. “What are you up to today?”

“Final preparations for the Admiral’s visit,” Gloin said. The admiral was, of course, Thorin Oakenshield, great warrior of the Klingon war turned paper-pusher, their cousin, and a colossal pain in the rear when he felt the need to be. Every dwarf who met him would follow him to the Halls and back, but they’d complain incessantly about the trip behind his back. “Bombur has us running diagnostics every five seconds.”

“Fíli’s bound to be nervous,” Oin said, only to be shushed by both his companions. A great many people felt that his voice was too loud, simply because he knew how to breathe and project properly and not mumble under his breath like the vast majority of people. “Well, he should be. Thorin’s always been too hard on him.”

“And let Kíli get away with being a bit of an airhead,” Feya agreed sleepily. “Good babysitter, though.”

The males nodded, though Gloin sighed, “We work for babysitters.”

Oin snorted. “Have you met this crew?” he asked.

There was no answer.

He knew there wouldn’t be. It was an incredibly valid point.

Still, he wouldn’t give up the _Arkenstone_ for any other ship in the fleet, and this adolescent crew for any in the Federation. 

It was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an extra chapter for this story purely because, when I am not under a time constraint, I want to write Gimli's conversation with Oin about elves and lubricant. 
> 
> Because.
> 
> Yes.


	4. Commander Dwalin, Starfleet Security

Despite Thorin’s piss-poor attempts at teasing, Dwalin was not a dwarf who often noted the physical attractiveness of others. He was a dwarf who did his _job_ which was, through no fault of his own (beyond his volunteering and refusing to allow anyone else the position, that is) to keep Admiral Thorin Oakenshield in one piece. This should have been a simpler process than it was, especially back on the _Erebor_ , but Thorin had two fine talents: he was a great and caring leader of dwarves, and he was a socially inept grump who pissed people off.

A lot of people.

Yet, somehow, Dwalin had served as Thorin’s chief of security and then second in command and kept his captain alive the entire time, until Thorin foolishly accepted a promotion to admiral. The only good thing about the promotion was that Thorin was assigned to oversee the ship yards at Erebor-Dale, which meant they were home a good deal of the time. 

There were plenty of downsides to consider, however, such as being away from space and being _bored out of his skull_ helping Thorin push paperwork around. This was why, when inspections came up, Dwalin strong-armed Thorin into taking one on.

Then they were assigned the _Arkenstone_.

Of course.

The ship not only led by someone whose diapers he changed, but also the only dwarf ship in the Fleet with an _elf_ on board.

….At least it would be in orbit, and that meant back in space, and at least there would be something to do other than poke a padd, and at least-

-Dwalin was cataloguing his Reasons This Was a Good Idea when he head Fíli’s ( _Captain_ Fíli’s) voice over the ‘com, and then the transporter was activated. 

As soon as they reenergized, he came up with another reason – a reason with ribbons and knobby knees.

…He felt like a dirty old man.

Thorin told him he was a dirty old man, and that wasn’t helpful at all, but Fíli, the smug little ass, assigned Lieutenant Ori from Communications as Dwalin’s official liaison aboard the ship. 

The way the brat-turned-captain _smirked_ when he used the word “liaison” only made it worse. Dwalin was not a dwarf given to love affairs. He certainly didn’t develop _crushes_ on 80-year-old officers with fierce older brothers who both served aboard the ship, and if that wasn’t nepotism at its worst he didn’t know what was.

The first brother he ran into was Lt. Nori, Fili’s yeoman. Naturally, he assisted in scheduling Thorin’s tours of the ship, which would take, all in all, three weeks to complete. 

Thorin believed in very thorough inspections.

Nori had something against Dwalin from the moment they met, though Dwalin couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t been in the transporter room to see Dwalin’s sudden attraction to his baby brother’s knees. 

Oh, Mahal.

Surely _Ori_ hadn’t noticed and told him.

No, no. Ori had been perfectly polite but not at all uncomfortable around Dwalin, as he would be if he knew Dwalin was fighting the urge to send side glances the way of Ori’s ribbons every five minutes. Nori’s narrow-eyed glares had to be his imagination.

Or so he thought, until he found Thorin splitting duties with him, and Nori cheerfully assigned Dwalin the job of inspecting the ship’s plumbing systems.

Dwalin was not an expert on plumbing. He was an expert on removing the heads of enemies and retaining the heads of captains.

But Nori he could handle. Nori was subtle, and a smug little shit, and creative (sticking Dwalin with Oin had been a stroke of genius, since the doctor had felt the need to pontificate on the dangers of space travel for a full three hours in what should have been a half hour inspection of medical supplies), but not a danger, really. Especially since Dwalin had no intention of doing anything about this unusual attraction to a junior officer.

No, Nori wasn’t a great danger, but there was a good chance their _other_ brother was.

Dori was the ship’s counselor, a relatively new position for a much whinier sort of officer, one who needed to talk about his feelings instead of beating the living crap out of each other like they did in the old days. There was something soft about Dori, his hair, his round face, his smile.

Then Dwalin received a message from Dori inviting him to visit the counseling department, and attached was Dori’s scores and records in hand-to-hand combat.

They were….

...Well.

It turned out Dori was once a security officer himself, under Captain Dain of the _Ered Engrin_ , and had been no slouch when it came to the old school form of conflict resolution on dwarf starships. 

Also attached were a list of _commendations for general ass-kicking_ during the Klingon War, though of course it went by a different name. 

Not exactly _subtle_.

When he actually met Dori, the security-officer-turned-counselor greeted him with soothing chamomile tea and a tour of his collection of ancient swords, all of which were “kept sharpened at all times, out of respect for their history.” 

Professionalism.

Dwalin was clearly the only person on ship who had any.

Dwalin considered informing both Dori and Nori that he was a decorated officer who had never _fraternized_ in his life, and he didn’t plan on starting now. But the subject never actually came up, so he decided it was best to err on the side of silence. 

If perhaps he was still occasionally distracted by those knees and that shy-bold-awkward smile and Ori’s ability to be both friendly and professional (he should give lessons to his brothers), well, that was no one’s business but Dwalin’s.

(And, to some degree, Starfleet Command’s, because Dwalin had formed strong opinions about these new short uniform dresses, the ones that in his time no one would be caught dead in but were all the rage now. They were clearly dangerously distracting and should be banned. He’d see to it back at Starfleet Command.)

Yes. Dwalin was in control and there were no problems, and a dwarf could look and still be an adult about things and not blush like an addled adolescent having his first crush. He would be _fine._

And so he was.

Until his fifth day aboard, when Thorin, with a glint of humor in his eyes, quoted regulations concerning downtime and ordered him to take a day off. “Lieutenant Ori has volunteered to meet with you in the morning and see what recreational activities you’d like to try aboard,” Thorin told him, and then went right to bed while completely ignoring Dwalin’s various protestations.

Thorin _had no sense of humor_ , and Dwalin didn’t appreciate him suddenly developing an embryonic one now. 

Dwalin would show him. And Nori, and Dori, and his interfering brat of a little cousin. He would have no problem spending a day in the company of Lt. Ori of Communications. 

None at all.

He was a _professional_.


	5. Lt. Commander Bifur, Chief of Security, USS Arkenstone

Bifur was fiercely loyal to the _Arkenstone_ and her crew.

No other captain in the Fleet would have taken him on, not after the Klingon War, not after he took a _kut’luch_ to the forehead and survived the impossible, thanks to a Starfleet physician who rewired his entire brain to bypass the damage. Survived, yes, but not unscathed – he’d woken from his coma with a garble of words in his head, a mess of contradictions where once there had been order.

For ten years, he was the darling of Starfleet Medical, a triumph of modern medicine going through constant physical and linguistic therapy. Over time, the words he heard settled down into expected patterns, but the words he _spoke_ -

-they never quite followed suit.

He wasn’t drummed out of the Fleet, but he was grounded, and that broke his heart. 

Bifur lived for space, for the thrum of a ship’s engines and the feel of strange soil under his boots. There weren’t many dwarves like him, who would have lived on ships without pay or adventure, but just for the cold expanse of space through viewports, the sight of unknown worlds over the viewscreen. But an officer who can’t talk is no use to a starship, and so Bifur was transferred to Starfleet Security, where he buried himself in numbers, designing security programs and protocols.

Numbers, for reasons explained to him, but that he didn’t quite understand, behaved better for him than words. He could speak them as well as he heard them.

When his little cousins called him in a tizzy over being accepted aboard the new flagship _Arkenstone_ , he’d done all he could to be happy for them. He tried to congratulate them in the right order, and with the right _words_ , but he failed – failed, always failed, until it was nonsense. They understood though, as they always had, both that he wanted to be happy for them, and that it hurt a great deal to do so.

Three days later, Captain Fíli appeared on his doorstep at Starfleet Command, where he spent hours each day deep in code, designing security systems. Bifur recognized him, of course, anyone would after all the publicity of his meteoric rise to captaincy of the first Federation flagship designed by dwarf hands. 

What he wanted with Bifur, however, was something of a mystery.

He got straight to the point, which Bifur appreciated after years surrounded by admirals and commodores at Starfleet Command. Paper-pushers never said in five words what could be said in five hundred. “Bofur and Bombur say you’re the best, and so does Commander Dwalin.”

“Yes,” Bifur said, not because he had no modesty but because the less he said, the less obvious his aphasia was.

“But you have trouble expressing yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand orders?”

“Yes.”

Fíli smiled, and dimples appeared above his beard. He was _very_ young; too young to be a captain, despite his sterling record aboard the _Ered Luin_. “Would you be willing to take orders from me?”

Bifur didn’t answer immediately. That wasn’t a result of his very unique brain – he had never been one to speak without thinking. Fíli didn’t press him, just sipped the tea Bifur had offered and glanced around the small quarters, looking over Bifur’s collection of ancient dwarvish weapons with interest. “That’s an excellent warhammer,” he said, his eyes lighting up in a way that showed he meant it and knew what he was looking at. “I’ve never seen one in such excellent condition. From the late fourth age, isn’t it?”

Bofur nodded. “Yes. Acquired from swamp.” A beat, as he realized the word was wrong. “Friend. Archeologist.”

“It’s incredible. Do you fight with it?”

“Yes.”

“My uncle insisted we complete weapons training as children. I was always small for a hammer, but my cousin Gimli trained with them, though he settled on axes.”

“You?”

“Twin swords.” The grin was back, a glint in his eye. “I moved fast enough to cut off most of the dwarves who swing things that size,” he motioned to the hammer. “Slows them down.”

¬“Secret?”

Fíli considered this. “To my success? Maybe. Moving fast pays off well; but it’s more about thinking differently. I didn’t hit my height early, and I took a lot of flack for being Thorin Oakenshield’s nephew and Dis’s son. I had to prove myself my own way.” He sipped the tea and leaned back, stretching his legs out almost lazily. “I’m still doing it, every day.” He looked over the mug. “You know something about that, I wager.”

“Yes.” And then, “Yes. Take orders.”

“From me?”

“From you.”

“What about denying them?”

Bifur’s wild brows drew together. “What?”

“If I give you an order that could cause lives . . .” Fíli straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. He was a small dwarf, but there was a presence about him, one Bifur knew, and recognized. His captain in the war had it. Thorin Oakenshield had it. But he couldn’t imagine any of them asking this question. “Can you deny an order, if you have to?”

Bifur studied him. Then: “Yes.”

Something told him he wouldn’t have to. But if he did, yes.

He could say no.

Fíli grinned, setting the mug down and jumping to his feet, hand out. “Good. I want the best on my ship, Mr. Bifur. The best crew, deserving of the best protection, and that means someone who can manage the systems and defend an away team from harm if needed. Someone with experience. That’s you.”

Bifur looked at the hand a moment, then reached out and took it in his. “Yes,” he said.

Bifur beamed aboard the _Arkenstone_ two months later. Fíli had jumped through hoops for his approval, aided and abetted by Bombur and, to Bifur’s surprise, Commander Dwalin at Starfleet Command. He’d worked with Dwalin, of course, but hadn’t expected him to take enough of an interest to help Bifur get the position of security chief against determined opposition. 

He was welcomed aboard by the elven First Officer, who smiled stiffly but not unkindly, and the exuberant navigator, Lt. Kíli, Fíli’s younger brother. It was Kíli who assumed everyone would want to see the observation lounge first, “Except Bombur, of course, who likes to pretend we’re not in space,” and over Commander Legolas’s mild objections took Bifur straight there.

_Stars._

This word he’d never lost, this word he never mixed up. 

Stars, shining lights against the endless black of space, reaching into infinity.

Bifur raised a hand and pressed it to the cool transparent aluminum that separated him from certain death and endless possibilities.

“Space,” he whispered, and the deck vibrated an answer through his boots.

_The final frontier_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't replied to comments - I'm super tired and must to bed. :) But I will answer each one tomorrow!


	6. Admiral Thorin, Starfleet Command

Thorin was 112 years old when he became captain of the _Erebor_.

It had been his father’s command, and it wasn’t unusual in those days for a ship to pass from a parent to offspring; no one had so much as raised an eyebrow, much less done the sort of huffy muttering about nepotism Fíli had put up with when he became captain (albeit very young). The Federation had been smaller then, in its infancy, and the ships built at Erebor-Dale were considered more Arda’s ships than Starfleets. However, as it became clear to the rest of the Federation that the best ships were being built by dwarven hands (with, admittedly, some assistance from Men), Erebor-Dale became the official shipyard of Starfleet Command. And with more Starfleet attention came more regulations and idiots muttering about things they didn’t understand.

The Erebor was a fine ship, only sixteen years old when it came under his command, designed for battle as the Federation was drawn into conflict with the Klingon Empire. Though officially a ship of exploration, she’d spent the bulk of her life along the Klingon border, keeping the enemy away from more peaceful planets so the Federation could pretend it wasn’t at war. While the elves and men went off on the search for adventure, the _Erebor_ skulked along the edge of Federation space (ever-growing and evolving, pushing them farther and farther from home) and fought off Klingons and pirate ships filled with Orions and Arda’s own Trolls.

Trust the disgusting creatures to make such unpleasant friends.

When war did finally break out, the _Erebor_ was in the first battle. She became a scarred symbol of Starfleet’s determination, and Thorin was field-promoted to admiral in the fifth year of war. 

She was also present at the last battle, and that was when he lost her.

Tricking the Klingon’s great general, purported to be the descendent of Kahless the Unforgettable, onto his ship had been simple enough. Klingon’s were plenty smart, but could be manipulated into moving without thought with the right circumstances. Being able to take the Erebor certainly qualified.

Sneaking his own people off had been surprisingly simple as well, carefully coordinated by his cousins Dwalin and Balin, second and third-in-command, respectively. 

Setting his ship, his home for over thirty years, the beautiful feat of dwarven engineering that had kept the Federation safe for decades, to self-destruct-

-that was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

His people had spent a week on a small, uninhabited type M planet before rescue arrived. They’d beamed down with appropriate equipment, of course, only to find that the planet’s electromagnetic shield wreaked havoc with all of their energy-based weapons and shielding. When Starfleet arrived, they found Thorin standing guard before his camp with a boot knife and a makeshift shield fashioned of a heavy branch from a tree much like an oak.

The name he earned sounded like a joke at first, but the officers of the _Iron Ram_ who gave it to him spoke it with awe, not teasing.

Starfleet offered him another ship, of course. A new one, fresh off the line, called the _Ered Luin_ (the same ship his nephew would later serve on as first officer), but Thorin wasn’t interested. He’d saved his people, yes, and effectively ended a war that had cost thousands of lives on both sides and could have cost a good deal more, but he’d destroyed his home to do so.

He didn’t want a consolation prize after the loss of the _Erebor_.

Most of his crew had scattered to the stars, though Thorin did his best to keep in touch with each of them. He’d been surprised when Dwalin left active starship duty to stand at his side. Dwalin had been offered the _Ered Luin_ after Thorin turned it down, but his cousin just grunted, “Looks like one of those old white computers exploded all over the place, the light design is a mess, and the hull’s made of tin foil,” and wouldn’t explain his choice beyond that. 

Thorin made a place for himself at Starfleet Command, growling and arguing with generals, admirals, chancellors, and whatevers from other races about internal and external security for the Federation. It wasn’t anything like having a ship, like having the _Erebor_ , having a crew and a mission that meant something. It wasn’t like being the center of his people’s defense; but it was good work that needed to be done, and it gave him some sense of purpose.

If sometimes his eyes lingered too long on the dark sky, wishing the lights of the city didn’t wipe out the stark beauty of the stars, well. That was his business.

And, it would seem, Dwalin’s.

Dwalin could _never_ mind his own business.

“There are inspections coming up,” his cousin had grunted one afternoon over a particularly teetering pile of senselessly boring paperwork.

“Hmm.”

“Aboard starships.”

“Hmm.”

“In _space_.”

Thorin looked up. “If you want to say something, spit it out,” he said, because Dwalin usually did. If there was any dwarf who had absolutely no delicate flower about him, it was Dwalin. 

Dwalin huffed. 

“You need to get off this planet-!”

“By which you mean you want to.”

“-and if you signed up to do one of these inspections, you-”

“But which you mean,” Thorin repeated calmly, “ _you_.”

“-could be in space for upwards of three weeks.”

Thorin perked up at this. “Three weeks? Really?”

“Yes really.” Dwalin glared at him. “Why else would I _say_ it?”

Dwalin was extremely literal, as dwarves went.

Three weeks in space . . . three weeks away from pads filled to the brim with reports, reports, reports. Three weeks of stars and officers and a ship under his boots and being, he thought with fondness, the highest ranking officer aboard.

“I’ll look into it,” he said. Dwalin looked pleased.

Dwalin stayed pleased when they were assigned first the newly ungraded _Belegost_ and then the _Arkenstone_ , though they were both surprised Starfleet would let him inspect Fíli’s ship. He’d not seen Fíli or Kíli since Fíli’s captain’s ceremony, or the _Arkenstone_ since she was transferred from the Erebor-Dale shipyards to orbit above Arda for completion. 

It was a pleasure, seeing them again. Fíli looked competent and strong in his gold stripes and Kíli was as handsome and enthusiastic as ever. The flash of pride he felt when Fíli welcomed him aboard was a warm and welcome feeling. 

But the best part – the best part of it all, and no offense to his troublesome nephews – was seeing a look on Dwalin’s face that he’d never so much as _imagined_ there before. 

He’d known Dwalin since they were boys, but never before had he seen an expression of such befuddled _attraction_ on his cousin’s face. All because of a boy ( _officer_ , not boy, he reminded himself, and apparently something of a linguistic genius, if Fíli was to be believed when they had their first light-hearted conversation in too long shortly after Thorin and Dwalin’s arrival) younger than his elder nephew.

It was absolutely-

_Adorable_.

And adorable on Dwalin’s battle-scarred, ever-grumpy face was fantastically _hilarious._

Thorin hadn’t found anything truly, truly funny in a very long time. Not since the _Erebor_. He found he liked the feeling.

Which was why, when his nephews suggested working together as regarded Dwalin’s utterly besotted state and Lt. Ori’s occasional forward blushing, Thorin immediately agreed.

It was nice, he thought, to have a mission again.


	7. Transporter Chief Gloin,  USS Arkenstone

Gloin loved fitting numbers together.

In school, he’d excelled in math and engineering classes, in the science of making numbers work together and create something fascinating and new, something _functional._ When he was in his seventies, he’d assumed that he’d go to college and become an engineer, then settle right back home in Erebor and help build starships.

But then-

Transporters were invented.

The universe opened up, and Gloin wanted in.

He wasn’t the first member of his family to attend Starfleet Academy, but he was the first who decided not to focus on officer’s training. He didn’t want to be a chief engineer, burdened with an entire ship, he wanted to be the one who specialized in transporters, the one piece of equipment aboard a ship that still needed a dwarven hand, a dwarf mind to double-check and second-guess the computer’s math. He was transporter chief within a decade, and had served since then on the finest ships in the Fleet.

Gloin was aboard the _Arkenstone_ because it was a deep space vehicle and because, like many dwarves in the Fleet, he wanted to travel with family. Dwarf ships tended to be family affairs because of the deep ties among even extended family members, and the tendency toward depression when dwarves were isolated. Captain Fíli and Lt. Kíli were his cousins, and of course his brother was aboard, and by the time his son had been assigned to the ship, Gloin and his wife were putting in requests as well. 

Ah, Gloin’s wife.

Feya was so far out of Gloin’s league that they shouldn’t have been in the same galaxy, much less the same ship. A fierce, dark-eyed beauty with the finest beard aboard this or any other ship, Feya was a geologist and an officer, a lieutenant commander. She’d been an ensign when they married, and there’d been more than a few raised eyebrows, but she’d faced them down with fierce confidence. Their son was born not much later, necessitating a reassignment to Arda until Gimli was sixty. Then they’d headed straight back into space while Gimli went to college for his engineering degree, followed by the Academy to become an officer.

Gloin had nearly burst his buttons when Gimli graduated in the top 25% of his class, with the rank of ensign and an assignment to the new flagship. Getting a position on the same ship had been a huge bonus. 

He liked his family together.

However.

A problem was developing, and neither Gloin nor his beautiful Feya knew what to do about it.

Feya noticed it first.

“They’re _friends_ ,” she told him in the officer’s mess one afternoon, where his well-known face got him in despite regulations. 

“Who?” he asked, glaring down at his dinner. Oin had been mucking around with his nutritional allotment again, and there wasn’t a sweet to be seen. His brother always claimed this was for his health, but it always seem to happen after they’d had some petty argument or other. This last one had been about scheduling Gloin’s latest physical, which Gloin maintained was unnecessary because he’d recently beamed down to a planet and Oin could get all the information he needed from the saved scan in the transporter’s buffer. Oin disagreed. Vociferously.

Feya sighed. “Pay attention, Gloin,” she groused, grabbed his beard, and turned his head.

He managed not to yelp aloud, but it was a near thing. Feya played dirty when she felt he wasn’t paying sufficient attention to her.

“What am I looking at-” but he didn’t have to finish the question, because it was obvious what he was looking at. Half the mess was looking at it, in fact.

His son was sitting at the table with the first officer.

The _elven_ first officer.

“They’re talking,” Gloin said, and he knew he sounded defensive. 

“Gimli is _smiling_ , my love. _Smiling_. You know Gimli spends most of his time glaring at inanimate objects.” She released his beard to tap her fingers against the table. 

Gloin looked again.

Yes. Gimli was smiling, his mother’s open-mouthed grin, complete with crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“Well,” he said, “it’s good to be on friendly terms with senior officers.” But he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Especially one who’s…out of place.”

An _elf._

Of course, dwarves had been at peace with elves for several generations now, and overall they were considered something like allies. They shared a planet, after all, which meant more than it once did now that aliens were everywhere. 

But they never shared _ships_. Not until this exchange program had been suggested and Fíli, eager young fool that he was, agreed. 

Feya gave him a look of such unabashed “I’m not buying that nonsense” that Gloin had to admit, “But why it has to be our son, I’m not sure.”

Feya sighed. “I’ll speak to him about it.”

“What will you say? Stop talking to the first officer?” Gloin picked at his remarkably lean salmon steak. “That’s like telling him to just quit the Fleet now. Elves don’t like it when they don’t get enough attention.”

Feya sighed. She knew he was right. “We’ll have to think on it,” she said firmly as their son, their handsome, clever son, kicked Commander Legolas under the table and grinned about it.

He hadn’t pulled that kind of behavior since he was fifteen and came to Gloin’s waist. 

“Yes we will,” Gloin said, but he had a strange sense of foreboding about it all, nonetheless. Talking to Gimli had never changed the stubborn lad’s mind about anything. He couldn’t imagine why it would now.


	8. Captain Fili, USS Arkenstone

Fíli knew he always looked calm and confident about being the captain of the Federation’s flagship. The first flagship to have been designed and built entirely at the Starfleet shipyard in Erebor-Dale. The first to have a dwarven crew. The first to have a captain less than 100 (less than 90) years old.

He knew because he cultivated that affable exterior carefully. So carefully that a lot of the time even he believed it.

Then there were days when he wondered how nice it would be to go back to being a lieutenant, following orders or even mucking about on a station, where life and death got along better and caused less trouble.

Take today, for example.

Today, they had been on a perfectly normal, safe, sane diplomatic mission that had fallen to pieces because Alien A murdered Alien B who was married to Pregnant Alien C and now Alien A wanted to be king, but Pregnant Alien C wanted Unborn Baby D to be king, and so he and his away team had ended up running all over the mountains (at least, conveniently, it was mountains, which gave his away team of dwarves a clear advantage) trying to keep from being killed by furious locals with deadly boomarangs.

Somehow, they’d all survived more or less intact (Oin had had some words to say about the state of Bifur’s right shoulder and the bad cut in Ori’s side and, yes, the blade in Fíli’s left arm), with peace on the planet due to a strangely-named baby (Fíli Orifur Aka’ar?) to show for it.

“You need to relax more,” his helmsman said as he dug his clever fingers into the giant knot that Fíli once called his shoulder. “Or piss off aliens less.”

“I didn’t piss them off!” Fíli protested, “They were mad before we ever got there!”

“Mmhmm.” Kíli shifted. He was currently straddling Fíli’s waist, and had been at work for a good ten minutes. Fíli wasn’t sure yet if his brother’s version of a massage was going to make things better or much, much worse, but something had to be done. “You should tell Thorin when he gets here that what starships need are full-time masseuses and a day spa.”

Fíli snorted. “Then what would you do with all your copious spare time?”

Kíli popped him on the ass as he wiggled back. “What spare time?! I work extra shifts every week driving a giant spaceship around and putting up with my overbearing captain.” He kissed the back of Fíli’s neck. “I’d get some sleep, maybe, if I wasn’t playing nursemaid. Is that better?”

Fíli stretched his arms over his head. There was still a pull, and he’d have to wait until tomorrow to find out if all the shoving and digging at the knots would make the pain better or worse, but for now he said, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Good,” Kíli said, and there was a moment of rearranging until Fíli was utterly covered by a blanket of lieutenant, complete with cheek tucked against his neck. “Mm.”

“…I am not a mattress.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I don’t look remotely like a mattress.”

“Mmm.”

“I am your _captain._ ”

“Hmm.”

Fíli sighed.

It really felt rather wonderful, all that warm and solid Kíli piled on top of him, but he had to put in a token protest for the sake of propriety.

Hands wiggled under him, cupping his shoulders as Kíli nuzzled his nose into Fíli’s neck. Their breaths skipped and then smoothed out, moving in synch. The next _mmm_ was less peaceful and more worried.

Ah.

“Did I scare you today?” Fíli asked quietly.

Silence for a beat and then, “Mm-hmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Fíli squirmed, ignoring Kíli’s half-hearted protests, until he was on his back and Kíli could tuck his dark head under Fíli’s chin. Kíli was a shameless snuggler in the best circumstances. Fíli appearing on the transporter pad with a blade in his elbow didn’t qualify.

“I love you,” Fíli said, stroking his brother’s back.

He felt Kíli’s smile. “I know.”

Sometimes, Fíli wished Kíli went on more away missions. His optimism and good humor would have been a huge help when things started going belly-up, as they so often did. Most of the time, though, he was glad that Kíli usually stayed back on the ship, his clever fingers at the helm, keeping their crew safe. It was hard on Kíli, though, not knowing what was happening, sometimes for hours at a time, sometimes for days.

His brother had always been the braver of the two of them. Fíli was the youngest captain in Fleet history, but he was humbled by his brother’s strength and kindness on a daily basis.

“You’re supposed to say you love me too.”

A chuckle, and then, “Mm- _hmm_ ,” and an elbow to his good arm as Kíli wiggled up to kiss him hello.


	9. Commander Dori, Ship's Counselor, USS Arkenstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori didn't like Commander Dwalin of Starfleet Command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are out of sequence because I wrote them in the order of the 13 Days for 13 Dwarves challenge on tumblr. So this actually takes place BEFORE Dwalin's chapter. When they're all done, I'll probably rearrange the order. 0_~

Dori didn’t like Commander Dwalin.

He didn’t like Commander Dwalin’s _face_ , or his _tattoos_ , or his sheer unnecessary _size_. He didn’t like Dwalin’s record, which had more than one flag for insubordination (especially against elven officers). He didn’t care for Dwalin’s psych profile, which Dori perhaps wasn’t meant to have access to, but if Command wanted it secret they shouldn’t have officially reassigned the commander and the admiral to the _Arkenstone_ for the duration of the inspection. Making them crewmembers gave both Dori and Oin access to the appropriate parts of their records. 

_Intensely loyal,_ his profile said, _to the point of limiting his own career in service to another’s._

Harumph.

There was something _romantic_ c about that, and Dori, more than anything else, did not approve of anything related to Commander Dwalin of Starfleet Command and _romance._

“You’re sure it was Ori he was staring at?” he whispered urgently to his brother. They were hidden away in Dori’s small office, leaning over a padd on which Nori had saved a copy of his latest hacked security recording. Normally, Dori tore into Nori for this sort of unprofessional and unethical behavior. It wouldn’t do for Nori’s questionable activities to be discovered. It could interrupt Ori’s extremely promising career.

But this was an emergency.

So he let it slide without so much as a brief lecture on ethics.

“Do you want me to play it again?!” Nori demanded, banging an aggravated fist to the desktop. “You saw for yourself! He couldn’t take his eyes off Ori’s legs!” 

They exchanged a dangerous look.

Dori and Nori didn’t consider themselves overprotective. They were, perhaps _…cautious_ where Ori was concerned, but really it only made sense. Ori was the most precious thing in their lives. Their parents had been officers first and parents second, leaving the brothers to more or less raise themselves in and around Starfleet Command. While Dori admitted he’d screwed up a bit with Nori (really, Nori was a hopeless brat), the pair of them had done a damn fine job with their Ori. He was kind, and generous, and intelligent (extremely intelligent when it came to linguistics; he could handpick his assignment, and had), and quite handsome if they did say so themselves. In fact, the body part in question – his legs – were one of his less attractive features, since he seemed determined to never quite grow into his height.

But he was also young.

And impressionable.

And sometimes a bit of a (polite) rebel.

And, according to Nori’s sources (“sources” being a translation of “eavesdropping” and “gossiping with the Hobbits”), unduly attracted to large, older dwarves who worked in security. Which described their visitor to a t.

“This,” Dori said, “will not do.”

Nori tapped his fingers beside the paused video of Commander Dwalin’s definitely downcast eyes. “What do we do about it, then? The captain’s already assigned Ori as Dwalin’s liaison, and it’d be bad if he was reassigned now.”

Dori was horrified. “Then who’s assigned to _Admiral Thorin?!_ ” he demanded, because clearly the most choice position should go to his baby brother-

“Me,” Nori said dryly.

“Ah,” Dori replied, chagrined.

Sometimes he forgot that Nori held one of the most important positions on board ship. 

In fact, sometimes he forgot that Nori was no longer a thirty-something nicking cookies and weaseling his way out of having charges pressed through manipulative innocence and Ori was not an adorable, wide-eyed toddler whose main goal in life was to procure sweets behind Dori’s back.

“We’ll just have to make it clear to this Dwalin,” Dori said the name to rhyme with _perverted pond scum _, “that if he wants to try anything on this ship, he’ll deal with the two of us.”__

__“We can’t be too blatant,” Nori argued. “He’s the captain’s cousin, and Oakenshield’s closest friend. They’ve been together for decades.”_ _

__Dori raised both eyebrows at his brother. “I thought you were the one always going on about subtlety and how clever you are.”_ _

__“I never go on about how clever I am!” This was a blatant lie and they both knew it. “. . . But I may have some ideas.”_ _

__Dori had suspected as much._ _

__“I might have a few as well,” Dori agreed, looking again through the psych file. Dwalin had a history of fighting, from the days before counseling was available aboard ships (though of course fighting was still acceptable for solving disputes, and in these cases Dori acted as official ship’s referee), but it wasn’t as impressive as his size would suggest._ _

__Dori could outbench him with one arm on two hours’ sleep._ _

__Nori knew that look. “Threatening a senior officer will get you court marshalled.”_ _

__“Then I won’t do that. I’ll invite him over for tea and a discussion of antique weapons.”_ _

__Nori’s grin would have looked perfectly in place on a fox. “I’ll make some special arrangements with his schedule. Arrangements that will keep him busy.” He paused. “Arrangements that will make him think more about shit,” Dori shot him a look for his language that he handily ignored, “than romance.”_ _

__“Excellent,” Dori agreed._ _

__They shook on it._ _


	10. Lieutenant Ori, Communications, USS Arkenstone

Ori knew he was the celebrity of the month aboard the _Arkenstone._ In a way, he was a little impressed. After all, being the center of attention aboard an entire ship of shameless gossips, carefully organized by their handful of Hobbits, was impressive when there was an attractive and famous admiral on board they could have been focused on instead.

“You’d think,” he told Kíli over coffee and ancient first-person shooters, “I’d be less interesting than the admiral who saved us all from the Klingons in the war.”

Kíli snorted and gunned down a small battalion of demons. “You have much more attractive knees.” Then he grinned. “But I should probably get you a fruit basket for being more interesting than me and Fíli. I happily hand over the moments of fame to you.”

“Only because the two of you are so ridiculously domesticated that you’ve become boring.” Ori’s eyes never left the screen. “How can you fly an entire ship and not find your way around _this corner_! Wake me up when you get here!”

“No one would believe you’re such an ass in real life-look I’m right here – you always look so sweet. Dwalin doesn’t know what he’s in for.”

Ori nearly dropped his controller (custom-made by Bombur down in engineering, who often joined them for these sessions). “What do you mean, _Commander_ Dwalin doesn’t know what he’s in for?!”

“I mean – pick that up and cover my back, what are you even _doing_ , I’m about to be- _Ori_!”

Ori glared at him as they watched Kíli’s avatar go down in a blaze of glory after a sneak attack from the rear. “What do you mean, Dwalin doesn’t know what he’s in for?!” he demanded again.

Kíli huffed and set down the controller, pulling up his legs to sit cross-legged on the sofa. He looked like a dwarfling at a slumber party, but Ori was used to that. They’d been roommates their last two years at the Academy, and Kili studied in all sort of positions more suited to a 20-year-old, including upside-down. “I mean, Lieutenant, that you have been looking right back at his biceps.” He shuddered. “I don’t personally understand the appeal, but that’s because he’s my uncle’s best friend and I’ve known him from the egg.”

Ori didn’t point out that Kíli had known Fíli just as long. He would just get a blank look and a _that’s different._ “I have not been looking-” a pause for Kíli to laugh derisively for an extended period. “Okay, fine, I _have_. He’s hot, Kíli. He’s just…” Ori pulled up his incredibly accurate mental image of the commander in question. He’d studied art as well as linguistics; they weren’t so different, after all. “He’s _huge_. He glares at everybody. He’s protective. But actually he’s kind. I’ve been around him a lot as his liaison, and he’s not looking for everything to be bad, you know. He grunts that everything’s going well, and he makes intelligent observations about ship’s procedures.” 

“Okay, well, if you wanna tap that-”

“Kíli, stop watching twenty-first century films, it’s ruining your brain.”

“-then do something about it.”

Ori frowned. “You think I should? But he won’t be here long-term.”

Kíli shrugged. “People transfer. If you hit it off, maybe something will come of it. And maybe something won’t. But you’ll have tried, and not just stared at each other’s preferred body parts from afar for two months.”

Ori turned, pulling up his own legs, fuzzy socks tucked under his bare thighs. He loved the skirted uniform, but he tossed the regulation tights the second he was off duty every day. “I’ve never really hit on anyone before.”

“Dwalin’s probably not used to being hit on. He won’t know you’re making bollocks of it.”

“You are the least useful friend in the world.”

Kíli grinned. “You love me anyway. I’m your best friend.” He flipped upside down. Oh, dear, he was really thinking now. “Just be direct. Invite him to dinner.”

“To dinner. On board this ship. In the _officer’s_ mess where we eat everyday anyway. With Dori and Nori and Admiral Thorin all under foot?” Ori sighed. “You do realize Dori and Nori have been ‘secretly’ spying on us every time we’re alone together since day one?”

“’Course they are, they’re overprotective mamas.” Kíli kicked a foot thoughtfully. “I can talk to Leggles, make sure they’re too busy to bug you.”

“You should really call him Commander Legolas.”

“This isn’t an official communique, and I only did that once, and Admiral Dis AKA Mom thought it was hilarious anyway. Besides, Leggles doesn’t mind. He knows his name has one too many syllables to be sensible.” Another flip, because Kíli couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes if he wasn’t fighting pixelated demons or waxing poetic on the captain (so many long nights back at the Academy, when Fíli was a lieutenant and they were long-distance and Ori learned to fall asleep to the lulling sound of Kíli ranting about what a dick Fíli was one minute and sighing over his kindness and cleverness the next). Now he was sitting up and leaning forward, dark brows drawn fiercely together, elbows on knees. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal.” Ori hoped he sounded as suspicious as he felt. 

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Leggles about the schedules for your brothers, and once they’re both busy elsewhere, you’ll ask Dwalin on a date.” He held a hand out. “Deal?”

Ori eyed it.

“Oh, and if everything does work out, you have to promise not to give me any details whatsoever because,” Kíli shivered, “ _Dwalin_.”

“You give me details all the time! More than I could possibly want!” This was sort of true. Kíli didn’t talk about his sex life, instead he talked about his cuddling-massage-hot chocolate-kissing-snuggles life, which was sometimes even worse. 

Kíli didn’t budge. “Is it a deal?” he asked, his voice low and intense.

Ori considered his options. He also considered how devastatingly large and handsome and just – those tattoos and the scars and, _yes_ – Commander Dwalin was. Finally, he mentally reviewed fraternization rules that prohibited superior officers from initiating romantic entanglements with junior officers, but said nothing whatsoever about junior officers inviting superiors out for dinner or manipulating the schedules of older brothers in order to more efficiently go on a date. Then he returned to thinking about the fact that Dwalin’s poor uniform just couldn’t really handle those biceps and just-

“Deal,” he said.

The family glare melted into the Kíli grin. “Excellent!” he said.

They shook on it.


	11. Yeoman Nori, USS Arkenstone

“This is quite possibly the most unethical thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

Nori looked up from the screen in Bilbo’s office and lifted one incredible eyebrow. “Really? Well, we haven’t known each other long.”

On said screen, artfully surrounded by flowering vines ( _Hobbits_ , Nori thought fondly) was the image of a door, one in a long line of doors, but on the panel beside this one in neat letters were the words GUEST QUARTERS 3.

In other words, Commander Dwalin’s rooms.

The rooms Nori’s little brother would be approaching shortly, as he had volunteered – _volunteered_! – to spend his precious day off “showing Mr. Dwalin properly around the ship. He just can’t enjoy it when he’s always working.”

As if.

As _if_ the _Arkenstone_ was so fascinating that Dwalin needed Ori to show him around all day.

Ori was _flirting_. He was _interested._ And. Well.

Nori just wasn’t sold on the idea that Dwalin was good enough for Ori.

“I think that’s for him to decide,” Bilbo said as he settled down with the tea, this being the point at which Nori realized he’d been ranting aloud and not just thinking forcefully. “But by all means, it should be entertaining to watch.”

Nori sent him a dirty look.

Bilbo wiggled his nose. “I’m just saying that Ori is forceful and forthright when he wants to be, and I’m of the opinion that Commander Dwalin doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for.”

“Well, of course he doesn’t. No one _ever_ does when it comes to Ori.”

This was Ori’s superpower. He would have expanded on this – how Ori’s cute face was the bane of Nori’s existence, once upon a time (he _never_ got the last cookie because he _always_ handed it over) – but just then, Ori appeared. 

“ _Civvies_ ,” Nori muttered, as if they word had four letters and a special connotation. Because one didn’t wear civvies for a professional meeting. Ori was dressed in a jumpsuit of brown and blue, with a patterned transparent shawl that showed his shoulders to excellent advantage. 

He looked good.

Too good.

Even with his knees covered.

“Where did he even _find_ that?” Nori demanded over Bilbo’s delighted laughter. “All he owns are knitted sweaters!” 

Ori took a moment to fuss with the shawl, making sure the drape was right before he pressed the buzzer.

Commander Dwalin came to the door.

In uniform.

(“Aw,” Bilbo lamented.

“Good,” Nori said. “No confusion on his end-”)

Then Dwalin smiled.

It was a shy, uncertain, looking-down-not-at-all-badass smile.

And he said, “You look…nice, Lieutenant.”

(“Oh, that’s _sweet_!” Bilbo said, and readily ignored the glare this earned. “Well, he does look good. He’s really working out a personal style.”)

And Ori said, “Ori please, sir, this is just a social visit.”

(“Social visit my _fine hard ass_ ,” Nori snarled.

“So modest,” Bilbo returned, though he did happen to agree. Nori was blessed with an excellent backside.)

“Ah. I’d. Well. I’m not certain that’s appropriate, Lieutenant.”

(“See, he’s a gentleman.”

“Just means he’s too uptight for my brother. Ori needs someone with a sense of humor.”

“He can’t be a wanton Commander Pervert _and_ too sweet and chaste, Nori.”)

“Oh.” A sweet, shy, sunny smile. “I’m sure it is, sir!”

Nori growled.

Bilbo laughed.

And the video blanked out.

Nori’s hands flew over the controls. “What the hell-”

The screen came back up, but it was just an image of a certain mustached face, one that always made Nori roll his eyes and Bilbo grin when he thought no one was looking.

“Sorry, lads,” Bofur said in a voice that wasn’t the least bit apologetic, “but I think Ori deserves a bit of privacy, don’t you?”

He was wearing a scarf. One in engineering red, with gold on the ends with a lieutenant’s stripes on them. It looked warm and fluffy and fully desirable for a coldish shore leave.

Nori’s eyes narrowed.

“Bribery!” he accused, in the tone of a four letter word that described a function of the human body. 

Utterly unacceptable! How _dare_ Ori resort to _bribery_ to stop Nori from keeping a totally reasonable eye on him?!

Bofur grinned. “Too right. And cookies!” His grin spread as he held one up (chocolate chip, playing _dirty_ ) before taking a theatrical bite. 

Nori snarled. “I’ll just go keep an eye on them _in person_!” he announced, “They can’t have gone far!” 

He stomped gracefully from the room.

Silence reigned for a moment before Bilbo asked the cheerfully bribed face on the screen, a bit shyly, “Tea?”


	12. Lieutenant Bofur, Engineering, USS Arkenstone

Bofur was a tinker in the body of a Starfleet engineer. 

There were some aboard who thought he should be chief engineer, who muttered that it was odd that he was perfectly happy serving under his own baby brother. But Bofur didn’t mind a bit. He didn’t need the headache of the paperwork and staff meetings and the captain calling down and demanding miracles. As a lieutenant, he had the freedom to run around the ship, tinkering here, tinkering there, at the beck and call of the crew. He saw people all day, every day, both dwarves and their small contingent of hobbits; Bombur stayed in his office and filled out paperwork and wrote letters to his babies. 

Bilbo Baggins, the (incredibly cute) Hobbit from hydroponics (the one, to be specific since botany and hydroponics were the most Hobbit populated departments, who wiggled his nose when he was making a decision), referred to Bofur as a “social butterfly.” Bofur rather like the description (and not just because Hobbits like things like butterflies, that would be ridiculous). But really, Bofur just liked _people_. 

Since he liked people, and since he was a butterfly, Bofur knew every member of the crew at least by name, and a majority of them by at least one random quirk of their personality. So of course when Lt. Ori from communications took a liking to Commander Dwalin from Starfleet Command, it was no surprise to Bofur. Their Ori had an eye for dwarves of a certain type, which was to say tall, broad, and with as much brain as muscle (to each his own). Commander Dwalin had all these attributes, as well as the added bonus of a Somewhat Tragic Backstory. Of course he’d be interested.

When Ori came to Bofur, bribe in hand, and asked him to help keep Nori from spying on his day out with the commander, Bofur immediately agreed for a number of reasons: it would be fun, it was a challenge (Nori was a genius with code and Bofur more of a hands-on fixer-upper, so he had to really delve into something he wasn’t as familiar with), it gave him an excuse to tease Nori (who was very attractive and amusing), it was helping out Ori (who, along with Kíli and Bombur, was the dwarf most likely to join him in a night of massacring the undead), and there was a good chance the handsome and sassy Bilbo Baggins would be involved (a bonus for doing anything involving Nori). 

Really, he’d’ve done it without the bribe. But he didn’t tell Ori that, because a dwarf could never have too many comfy scarves.

He liked Ori. He looked like an angel, but he was feisty. He’d once brought the beat-down on an especially obnoxious ensign from security in three different languages, all while looking positively cherubic. Plus, he survived the combined mothering powers of Dori and Nori, which showed just how badass he truly was.

What Bofur hadn’t expected to come about from his altruistic butterfly urge to help out a young dwarf in crush was a date with Lt. Bilbo “Twitchier Hands Than You” Baggins.

But it did.

(Well. Sort of.)

(Well. Maybe)

Okay, in full disclosure (which would be made to his very nosy brother and thoughtful cousin later that night), it wasn’t a date per se. It was more of a mission. A mission to protect sweet, innocent Ori from being spied on by his brothers by…ah…

…spying on him themselves.

(It was Bilbo’s idea! And he explained it with his eyes shining and his nose twitching and his fingers wiggling and no dwarf could be expected to withstand such an assault with his good conscience intact!)

“We’ll just go where they go,” Bilbo assured him over tea. “I know they’re heading to the arboretum first, so we can shadow them from there.”

“I’m confused as to how this is better than his brother’s spying on him.” Bofur hated tea. Stuff tasted like grass. Give him a good, strong coffee any day (perhaps with just a splash of rum, for warmth). But he drank it when it was presented to him by a smiling Bilbo. 

“Because we’re neutral parties.”

Bofur felt a grin coming on. “Was that _neutral_ or nosy?”

“Either way,” Bilbo said serenely. “Would you like to spy on a date with me?”

_Change that spy to a go and I’m all for it_ , Bofur grumbled internally, but externally he only accepted and they were on their way.

——

If this constituted a date, it was the most boring date Bofur had ever seen.

First, the young-plus-not-so-young-battles-scarred couple went to the arboretum, presumably to talk about the Hobbits’ plants and how the crew would all die without air if the Hobbits weren’t around. This was followed by a stroll around deck 11, which did circle the entire saucer and had a number of viewports, but every viewport was the same fascinating image of space-and-stars. And then they went down to the small café on deck 10, which was, Bilbo and Bofur acknowledged, a better idea than braving the officers’ mess, even though Bofur had it on good authority (Ori’s) that Nori and Dori were both working at the moment.

They did stop and order some kind of hot beverage, so Bilbo and Bofur did the same (Bofur pulling a flask from his hip holster that made Bilbo tsk even as he held his coffee out for a bit of a warmup), settling in a warm little back corner and chatting about this and that. It was the first time Bofur had really had Bilbo all to himself, Bilbo being a sort of natural center of attention (and often with Nori lurking around, looking attractive and Bofur wasn’t the least bit jealous, thank you), and Bofur …

Well he liked it.

Obviously.

It was almost like the date he was too chicken to ask Bilbo on.

At least, he did until the shadow fell over the table.

And he looked up.

And there was Lt. Ori from communications, with a wild look in the eyes over his super-polite smile.

“Bofur,” Ori said in a voice that was so polite that it was, quite frankly, terrifying, “if you do not take your date somewhere else, I will make sure that the replicators don’t make you a dessert for the next four years.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “We’re not on a-”

Bofur didn’t want to hear the end of that statement; he was enjoying his rich fantasy life at the moment. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

“It was Bilbo’s idea!”

"Traitor," Bilbo murmured under his breath, but Bofur didn’t have time to defend himself from defending himself.

“That’s no excuse. Bilbo is Nori’s best friend and can’t be trusted.” Bilbo made a sound of offended disagreement at this, “but I expected better of you!” He laid a hand over his heart and his eyebrows sort of bent into a pathetic inverted W that made Bofur feel like a horrible person who would never get another hand-knitted scarf.

“We’ll go,” he said, graciously admitting defeat. “You two are boring anyway.”

“Leave,” Ori returned, and his eyes narrowed in a decidedly dangerous manner, “and I’ll finally have a chance to become _interesting._ ”

Bilbo coughed into his fist.

Bofur agreed whole-heartedly.

Definitely time to go.


	13. Lt. Commander Balin, Navigator, USS Arkenstone

There were those aboard the _Arkenstone_ who referred to Balin as “Balin, the long-suffering,” but Balin disagreed. 

He was a quiet dwarf, always more given to contemplation than running around fighting Klingons and arguing with the elves. He had a strong instinct for teaching, and spent several years off and on at the Academy, guiding young officers to their careers. But he’d served on ships as well, called into service by Thorin aboard the _Erebor_ , working with Dain aboard the _Iron Hills_. He’d seen more than his share of battle, and watched so many strong young dwarves be lost to the cold of space.

When an entire ship of cadets was destroyed in a surprise attack near Vulcan, teaching lost all of its allure. 

So when Fíli had asked him to come aboard the _Arkenstone_ as a third-in-command he could trust to advise Fíli and not be rude to their new first officer, Balin agreed. And he didn’t regret it, not even when Kíli was a bit wild about the eyes and wiggled in his seat and tried to get Balin to run battle sims on their consoles when the ship had been flying straight too long (not that he would do anything so unprofessional, but he thoroughly wiped the floor with Kíli 50% of the time; Kíli was trying to talk him into a long-distance sim battle with Tauriel from the _Mirkwood_ , who was Kíli’s friendly nemesis. “We can take her, Balin, no problem! With you at my side, the _Arkenstone_ is unstoppable!” 

To which Balin responded: “That’s with you at _my_ side, laddie.”)

The _Arkenstone_ was a ship that kept you young.

He had not expected, however, for it to be the ship where his grumpy, sarcastic, loyal, pain in the ass baby brother would develop an immediate and disconcerting puppy crush on Balin’s brilliant young protégé. One who was younger than Fíli. 

“You changed Fíli’s nappies,” Balin reminded his brother, who glared at him and muttered _I know_ followed by _shouldn’t have said anything to you, you’re as bad as Thorin._

Dwalin had been part of a few tempestuous liaisons over the years, but he’d never been so thoroughly besotted.

“It was a date,” Dwalin reported the evening of his enforced day off. He said this in a voice more suited to _It was a Mugato with dwarf for dinner on his mind_ , but his eyes were soft. “Though he did take time out to threaten the assistant chief engineer and one of the Hobbits.”

“He threatened them?”

“They were following us. I assume as spies for those,” he caught his voice, corrected his terminology, “brothers of his.”

It was when Dwalin referred to two dwarves who tap-danced on every last nerve in his body as simply “brothers of his” that Balin knew this was serious business. This was the real deal. Dwalin could insult people in two different languages, and generally did. If he was fighting down his natural urge to question their lineage for possible elf-involvement, Dwalin was truly making an effort.

His brother was falling in love.

And he had come to Balin, his older, wiser, more intelligent, less hotheaded, generally more together but definitely loving ~~big~~ older brother for support.

Balin could have taken advantage of this moment. Dwalin was in such a state that he would follow any advice Balin gave him (albeit in a perplexed manner). He hadn’t seen Dwalin like this since he was in his 60s, and Balin hadn’t had the personal fortitude to not take advantage of it back then, leading to Dwalin being stuck in a tree for three hours while Balin laughed himself sick at the bottom.

But he was an adult now, of the kind and gentle variety, so in the present he patted Dwalin’s massive hand and said, “Brother, you’ve a week and a half left on board. You should take advantage of it. Ori’s a good lad-ah, officer,” because Dwalin was rather old to be dating a lad, wasn’t he?, “you tell him what you’re interested in, and he’ll let you know if he agrees.”

Dwalin stared at him a moment. “What I’m interested in?”

“Yes. Be honest with him. Because of your limited time now-”

Dwalin interrupted him, as Dwalin was wont to do. “Exactly how much _detail_ do I give him about what I’m interested in?” he demanded intently.

Balin’s jaw dropped.

Oh dear.


	14. Lt. Commander Bombur, Chief Engineer, USS Arkenstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bombur writes all letters in the style of an epic love letter.

_Starfleet Personal Communication_  
 _Authorized Stardate 0198.5_  
 _Origin: USS Arkenstone, Lt. Commander Bombur [son of Kefur], Chief Engineer_  
 _Recipient: Hetta [daughter of Hero], Erebor, Arda_

My Darling Hetta, 

I could open this letter with poetry about how much I love you, and how much I miss you, and how I count the days until I see you again. I could write about how much a miss the babes, as well, and how I’m looking forward to that transfer to Deep Space One at the end of the year. I could tell you for the millionth time how I long for the day we are together as one family, comfortably situated in a brand-new station that you, my lovely genius, helped design.

But you know all this already, as you have always known my heart, and you sent me wonderful pictures of the children which have been of great use to me today, and we both know that what you’re really interested in as far as my life is concerned is _Arkenstone_ gossip.

And, my love, there is so much to tell you.

I wrote to you, dear, about the arrival of Admiral Thorin and Commander Dwalin, and of Lt. Ori’s interest (but of course, you understood as soon as you looked up those images of the Commander that Starfleet uses on some of its recruitment posters; you are correct in your assessment that Ori designs avatars that appeal to his desire to watch someone attractive running on screen at all times). During these satellite gaming sessions you’ve also become aware that our Ori can change from sweet and innocent communications officer to orc-destroying maddwarf in a matter of minutes, especially when he feels that Lt. Kíli is not using his mage appropriately (that you agreed with him that all mages should know to avoid direct physical confrontations does not diminish Ori’s enraged and well-worded fervor). 

He looks very innocent, but he has a rather passionate nature.

Well, he did manage to get in a day with Commander Dwalin, though only after ensuring that both his brothers were working the same shift and then only to be spied on by Nori’s best friend Bilbo and our own Bofur (should be ashamed of himself, behaving that way against a fellow gamer just because of his odd attraction to hairless chins and hairy feet). 

It must have been a promising day in the end, as Ori came to me this morning and, after extended negotiations, assigned me guard duty on what was officially a lunch date. 

I never really considered security . . . well, briefly, at the Academy, but I like not being in danger every five minutes and putting a ship back together is much preferable to taking it apart. But I would have been good at it, judging by my ability to fill a doorway so that no one can pass through it into the forward viewing lounge, which Ori had cleared through abuse of the fire alarm systems.

I was awarded, for this good service, a dozen cookies, a scarf, a promise for scarves for each of our darlings, and Counselor Dori’s top secret mince pie recipe, which I’m forwarding to you now. 

Additionally, Commander Dwalin, who is assigned to Starfleet Command, says he will enter an official commendation in my file after watching the security footage of me dealing with Dori and Nori (not so difficult as people think, you simply refuse to budge and smile a great deal and then distract them with photos of the four most beautiful children in all of Arda; no dwarf worth his commission would stop a proud father from sharing stories of dwarflings taking after their parents and building multi-story blanket forts; on this note, please tell Koffa that there are PVC pipes in the attic they are welcome to use in the construction of their next fort).

Dori, by the way, agrees with you that Botta looks almost exactly like Bofur. I’ll tell him when next we speak, right now he’s waxing poetic on Lt. Bilbo’s eyes and chattering about being on a date that wasn’t a date. He never notices I’m writing letters when he’s in this sort of mood, and Bifur’s been asleep with his eyes open for a quarter of an hour now.

(I personally think they’d make a fine match, if only Bofur will stop being shy for the first time in his entire life and do something about it. Bifur has informed me he plans to write love letters in Bofur’s name if something isn’t done in a fortnight.

Please send me color preferences for the childrens’ scarves (one or two colors, Ori tells me), and give them all hugs and kisses from their father. Ori’s also said he can get me a proper video message up in three days, so he’ll forward you the specifics. There might be more comm time magically available for my private messages to the children for the foreseeable future.

And this, light of my life, is why you always stay on the good side of your communications officer.

With all my love and devotion,  
Bombur

_P.S. I am considering offering my services as door dwarf to Ensign Gimli from engineering. And no, I did not tell him about your theories on a collapsible box he could carry to make snogging his elf in corners an easier job. He doesn’t have a great sense of humor at times and I’m am his superior officer._

_P.P.S. Just forwarded the design to the first officer instead; he says it all looks rather brilliant and he likes how you’ve disguised it as a tricorder. Well done as always, my gift of the Maker._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go! This started as a collection of character studies for 13 Days for 13 Dwarves, and picked up just a hint of a story. :) Tomorrow, "Everyone" will go up!


	15. Crew of the USS Arkenstone, Plus Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And complete! <3

If Ori and Dwalin lived in a fantasy world where there was some semblance of privacy aboard the fleet’s flagship, manned is it was by the Fleets best and brightest, they were thoroughly disavowed of that notion when they arrived in the officers’ mess for breakfast on the final day of Thorin’s inspection.

They arrived together. This was at Ori’s insistence.

“It’ll look questionable if we arrive together,” Dwalin argued as he pulled on his shirt (Ori taking a moment to appreciate the fact that it pulled just that little bit across the backs of his shoulders).

“It is questionable,” Ori returned, feeling the pink spread across his cheeks. “We spent the night together.”

He was already dressed, having nodded right off in his skirted uniform. Waking up in the arms of his very large, very friendly, very senior officer had been a lovely bonus. 

He was a bit wrinkled, though, but he didn’t let that bother him.

“It could cause you some trouble when I leave.”

Ori hummed agreement and fixed his braids. “Probably.”

“Rumors flying around.”

“Most likely.”

“Your brothers might be upset.”

Ori turned and grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Dwalin’s expression was that of a dwarf who is thoroughly impressed with another dwarf. “All right then,” he agreed.

And so they arrived together.

Arm in arm, in fact.

“Good morning,” Commander Legolas said, seemingly serene and unaware of the collective intake of breath that had occurred when Ori and Dwalin entered.

“Good morning,” Ori replied, letting his eyes sweep the mess.

Kíli met his eye and attempted, to the best of his ability, to provide a congratulatory wink. Since this wasn’t in his skill set, it ended up looking like an incredibly encouraging grimace.

Oin grumbled to himself and pulled out his padd to make a notation (the message pinged at Ori’s padd moments later, and was the most straightforward order to come by with any “particular questions” Ori cared to read in his entire life).

Bifur smiled and nodded his head once at Dwalin before returning to his tomatoes and mushrooms with single-minded determination.

Admiral Thorin looked calm and unaffected, but his sharp eyes flickered between them and Dwalin detected the smug hint of a smile that Ori completely missed.

“Well well,” Gloin said as his wife grunted a friendly sort of hello, “looks like we’ll need another plate, here.”

“Two plates,” their captain said, but he was already rising as he said it, and there was a smile on his face. “You two sit on down, I can grab it.”

Bofur grinned and gave a massive double thumbs-up before tilting one thumb slightly toward a gently smiling Bilbo Baggins, who was seated beside him. 

Balin nodded and gave them a neutral greeting, but neither Dwalin nor Ori missed the definite twinkle in the navigator’s eye as he scooted over and offered them a seat.

Bombur’s gentle expression turned gentler still, and he nodded his head once in acknowledgement as Fíli inched around him.

And then there were the final two officers in the mess that morning: the ship’s counselor and the captain’s yeoman.

They both looked perfectly composed. Every hair in place, expressions neutral.

But Dori cracked his knuckles.

And Nori slowly pulled out his padd, eyes like daggers over the edge as he pointedly tapped the surface.

“There’ll be no bloodshed in the mess,” their captain said as he delivered a tray with two full breakfasts on it. “You know how we hate getting blood out of the carpet.”

He winked much more successfully than Kíli and returned to his seat between their helmsman and visiting admiral.

As Dori started pointedly collecting the knives of everyone in his general vicinity, Thorin leaned in just enough to whisper, “I think it’s just as well we’re leaving in the morning,” in his nephew’s ear.

“Just as long as you think of a good reason to come back,” Fíli answered, “I don’t want my communications officer heartbroken.”

“And I don’t want my security detail snapped in two by your ship’s counselor.”

The captain and the admiral exchanged a look. Then they glanced down the table, to where Ori, in full view of his brothers and with a slightly manic gleam in his eye, was telling Dwalin all about the new communications relay while Dwalin quietly ate.

They were holding hands.

“We’ll think of something,” Fíli said.

“Agreed,” Thorin returned. 

They shook on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now this is complete, though there may be a Legolas and Gimli chapter popping up later - but they weren't part of the original challenge. :D

**Author's Note:**

> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)


End file.
